The Road Less Travelled
by Virgo Writer
Summary: It was like history repeating itself.  It was Sydney Olympics, 2032 with father and son competing on different sides and Nicolae in the middle, and he only hoped that this time, his father would forgive him.


**The Road Less Travelled**

I was thinking about how Payson and Sasha's children would be like uber-gymnasts and this piece occurred to me. It's implied Payson/Sasha but she's never named so you could probably pick any of the Rock gymnasts, but that's really as far as I'm willing to let your discretion go.

EDIT: Finally discovered the best way to resolve the Dmitri squared problem. Was doing some name research for another fic and what should I discover, but that Dmitri is NOT ROMANIAN. The Romanian version of Demetrius is Dimitru, so now I can totally use that to my advantage instead of this darn 'Mitri business (which I never liked to begin with).

Please forgive the gymnastics in the middle. I know pretty much nothing about gymnastics in a technical sense, and I couldn't find many useful resources, especially ones to do with gymnastics moves almost guaranteed to kill you so I had to make something up. I would be much appreciated to anyone who could give hints in this regard, but for now this will have to suffice.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own **Make It Or Break It** (ABC) or the poem **The Road Less Travelled** (Robert Frost) featured at the start and end of this one-shot.

* * *

___Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-  
I took the one less travelled by,  
And that has made all the difference._  


_

* * *

_

_'It's like history repeating itself,'_ Nicolae Matthew Belov thought to himself, cringing as the irony of the situation hit him once again. The seventeen year old had never been a particular fan of irony, and so the similarity of his present to his father's past settled in his stomach like a heavy rock. It was the Olympics – the year 2032 – and Nicolae was in the centre of Stadium Australia, Sydney doing mental and physical preparations for his final parallel bars routine. It had been thirty-two years – eight Summer Olympics – since his father had won a gold medal in the same event, in the same stadium right here in Sydney, and twenty years since his mother did the same in the women's equivalent in London.

His father had been almost the same age when he won his four gold medals at the Sydney Olympic Games 2000. It had been the beginning and end of Sasha's gymnastics career to some extent, just as it might be now for Nicolae. He had essentially the same gymnastics style as his father, and he was practically a carbon copy of him in both looks and form. It might as well have been Sydney 2000 all over again, with the younger Belov on the floor, while the elder Belov stood on the sidelines, ambivalent at best.

Nicolae glanced briefly towards the sidelines where his father and older brother both stood wearing matching expressions and uniforms. Sasha and Dimitru Emile Belov were both dressed in the red, white and blue of the American Men's Gymnastics Team and both their faces were marred with deep concern. He could only imagine how his mother must look right now – blue eyes wet with tears and mouth set in a firm line as she nervously pulled her fingers through her long hair to calm herself – and was grateful that his father hadn't let her onto the floor for this. Seeing his father and Dimitru was bad enough without seeing his mother practically in tears with worry.

His grandfather, Dmitri Belov Senior he supposed (which is why his brother tended to compete under their mother's maiden name to avoid confusion at international events) stood beside him barking instructions in a mixture of languages – some English, some Romanian, a little French and Russian, and the occasional piece of mainland Chinese. When Dmitri Belov got excited like this he tended to speak in all languages at once, confusing anyone who had not become accustomed to the strange talent. For his grandfather this would be the ultimate victory – finally beating his ex-national, traitorous son as a coach, and rewriting the past. It would bring honour to Romania and play tit-for-tat to the four gold medals his son had dishonourably (in Dmitri's mind) won for the wrong team.

Perhaps it would finally put to bed the grudge between Sasha and Dmitri, but after thirty-two years, Nicolae doubted anything would.

Nicolae glanced once again at his father, drowning out his grandfather's words of 'encouragement'. _'Will you forgive me for this?_' he wondered, meeting his father's steely blue gaze with a pleading expression. Sasha did not look away but his expression was no comfort to Nicolae – he looked like someone who was about to lose something very important to him and the fear in his gaze made Nicolae's heart wrench painfully.

It was the same expression that had him going rogue after the 2030 Worlds and seeking out his estranged grandfather. As much as he loved his father, he couldn't be Sasha's gymnast and Sasha couldn't be his coach. They were just too much the same and Sasha couldn't compartmentalize the different roles he had to play in his sons' lives: father and coach. He couldn't allow himself to go that step further as a coach with his youngest son – the step that would make him not merely a champion, but a legend – couldn't allow his son to make the calculated risks that were required at the top level of competition.

So Nicolae left his father for someone who would let him take those risks, someone who would treat him just like any other gymnast. His grandfather was more than happy to take that role, fast tracking Nicolae onto the Romanian Team and pushing him harder than he'd ever been pushed in his life. Dmitri made no exceptions for family, often going harder on Nicolae than anyone else in order to fix perceived weaknesses cause by Sasha's "sloppy American-style training".

But hard as it had been, it had all paid off. It must have, because Nicolae was here now, the favourite for four out of six event finals, even without his esteemed parentage.

"Good luck, Nicu!" he heard his brother call over the crowd, earning himself several glares from his American teammates. He sheepishly added something in Romanian that they wouldn't understand, relying on their father's native tongue in order to convey secret messages to one another, like they had when they were in grade school.

Nicolae's Romanian teammates, on the other hand, understood every word and snickered at the sound of the All-Around American and Olympic Champion declaring his brother to be the best gymnast he knew.

Nicolae responded with a weak smile, the best he could manage at the moment. His eyes gravitated again to his father. Dimitru quickly nudged Sasha in the side, trying to force some kind of response, but Nicolae did not expect a result. They were the same, after all, and his father was as stubborn as he was.

Sasha's frown deepened for a moment, but he eventually responded, in the same covert language that 'Mitri had used. "Noroc, fiul," he said, his voice laden with emotion. _Good luck, son_.

With a brief nod of his head, Nicolae finally started towards the apparatus, positioning himself at equidistance from both ends as his name was announced over the entire arena. After a few moments he began, lifting his feet from the ground and gradually curling his body into itself, before lifting his body into a perfectly vertical handstand. He held it, and then let his feet fall forward, using gravity and momentum to build the speed for a double somersault. There was a wave of awe from the crowd, as somersaults were uncommon so early in a routine.

Nicolae caught himself on the bars, transitioning into a swing that braced him through the landing and then back into a handstand with a pirouette, falling back down to complete the circular arc without even breaking his swing. There was another round of applause, but Nicolae never noticed such things when he was deep in a routine.

He swung into another release move, just a small one to change his hand position. He went into another swing, this time bending his body in half in such a way that he appeared to pivot on his own axis. He performed another quick somersault, before transitioning into a long swing that would help to build up the necessary speed for the next few items. As he went through two wide rotations he pictured his next move in his mind, imagining exactly how he wanted it to go. It was the very combination of moves that Sasha had been dead set against, thinking more like a father than a coach at the time.

No part was a particularly difficult move to learn, at least in isolation, but in combination with other elements it was a dangerous one. That was all that Sasha had been able to see when Nicolae proposed it and when he'd told his youngest son that he would remove him from the national team if he performed it. Nicolae had cut it from his routine at worlds, and left almost as soon as the gold medal was hung around his neck, determined to prove his father wrong at the Olympics.

From the swing he went into a double back, catching himself on his upper arms. He swung forward and then back, forcing his weight back to his forearms and his body into vertical handstand. From handstand he went into a one armed full-pirouette, and then – and this was the hard part – straight into a double front. The whole thing succeeded or failed on his ability to keep himself centred between the bars. A slight error in that and he'd land off to the side, missing the bars completely and ruining the whole routine. The slightest miscalculation and he'd be in for a whole lot of hurt. The wrong landing and he'd be paralyzed for life.

But he did it, keeping his position in between the bars and catching himself on his upper arms again. Using his arm strength alone, just as he had at the start of his routine, he lifted into a handstand, lifting one hand off the bar once he was perfectly straight and holding the position for the required length. Once the hand was returned, he swung into a tippelt, then finally a double back off piked, sticking the landing.

He saluted the crowd and judges, waiting but a moment before he dashed off the floor. He didn't run to his coach, instead crossing to the other side where his father stood with his arms open wide. He grasped his father tightly, almost sobbing as he buried his head in his father's shoulder.

"It's alright, Nicu," he said gently, pressing a kiss to his son's forehead as he squeezed his arms around his shoulders.

Nicolae shook his head, his eyes tightly shut as a cry left his lips.

"I'm so proud of you," Sasha whispered. "You were incredible. Better than I could have imagined."

He nodded this time, choking back the emotions that threatened to escape in an embarrassingly feminine way as he pulled back from his father's embrace. Despite his best efforts, it was clear that the emotion had gotten the better of him – his face was flushed and his cheeks wet with tears. The only consolation was that his father wasn't looking that much better.

"Stop it you two," Dimitru admonished jokingly, "you're making us Belov men look bad." Nicolae gave him a sceptical look, noting the hypocritical tears that lingered in his brother's eyes.

"They're about to announce your scores," Sasha said gravely, suddenly reminding them all of the reality. "You need to be with your team."

"Can you stand with me, dad?" Nicolae asked hopefully, unwilling to face this moment without his father by his side.

Sasha nodded, wrapping an arm around his son's shoulder as he walked him back to his team. Dmitri gave them both a quick nod, the look in his eyes not entirely disapproving. He stood on Nicolae's other side, wrapping an arm over his shoulder as Sasha did and sharing a look of pride with his son and grandson.

And there they all stood together, three generations of Belov men side-by-side. History had repeated itself, and yet the result was changed. And the two roads – the roads that metaphorically represented the men either side of him – had finally converged right back where they parted.

* * *

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
And sorry I could not travel both . . .  
I took the road less travelled by,  
And that has made all the difference. _


End file.
